Chapter 5: The Call

I woke to an empty chair across the table and cold light coming through the window.

Damien was gone. His jacket was gone. The whisky glass, still half full, sat exactly where he'd left it hours before, and for one disoriented second I thought I'd dreamed the entire night until I saw the burgundy dress still draped over the second chair and knew I hadn't.

My phone showed six missed calls. All from Richard.

I called back with my hands not quite steady, and the moment he picked up, I understood two things at once: something had happened, and he already knew where to find me.

Nadia. His voice was wrong. Richard Hart's voice was never wrong. "Damien's been in an accident. St. Aldric's, on Fifth. I need you to come."

I don't remember getting my shoes on. I remember the lobby, and the marble too bright, and the drive over feeling like it took either four minutes or forty; I genuinely couldn't tell you which.

The hospital corridor outside the private wing was already full when I arrived: Eleanor with her hand pressed flat against her chest like she was holding something in, Richard pacing, two board members standing off to one side pretending not to be there for business reasons at a time like this. Selena was there too, by the window, very still, watching everyone else's panic with an expression I couldn't read and didn't have room to try to.

He was driving himself in for the Meridian call," Richard said when he saw me. "Alone. Witnesses said the car drifted before it hit the barrier. No other vehicle involved.

Is he

Alive. Eleanor's voice cracked on the word. "They won't tell us more than that yet."

I stood at the edge of that hallway, still in last night's dress, and understood with total clarity that I had no right to be standing among them. I was not family. I was not his fiancée or his wife or even, officially, anything at all to Damien Hart except the woman who managed his calendar.

I could have gone home. It would have been the smart thing, the careful thing, the thing three years of training had built into me. Nobody would have questioned an assistant slipping out quietly once the family arrived.

I didn't move.

If someone asked me to leave, I decided, I would leave. But I was not going to remove myself before anyone had to make me.

Selena's eyes found mine across the hallway. Something moved behind them — not concern, not really, something closer to calculation, like she was recalculating a number that had just changed.

"You stayed the night with him," she said quietly, stepping close enough that only I could hear it. "Didn't you?"

It wasn't really a question, so I didn't answer it as one.

"That's a very interesting thing to have done," Selena said, "the night before your boss ends up in a hospital bed."

"Selena."

"I'm not accusing you of anything." Her mouth curved, small and precise. "I'm just saying people will ask questions. And I'd hate for you to be standing in the wrong place when they do."

A doctor came through the double doors before I could answer that, and everyone in the hallway went still at once. Eleanor grabbed Richard's arm. I found I was holding my breath without having decided to.

"Mr. Hart is stable," the doctor said, and the whole hallway exhaled as one. "He's conscious. There's a head injury; we're monitoring some memory disruption closely. We won't know the extent until he's more alert."

"Memory disruption," Eleanor repeated, like the words didn't fit together in her mouth.

"It's common with this kind of trauma. Could be minor. Could be more significant. We'll know more in the next few hours." The doctor glanced around the group. "Family only, for now."

Richard's arm went around Eleanor's shoulders. They moved toward the doors together, and Selena fell into step half a pace behind them, close enough to look like she belonged there.

I stayed exactly where I was.

Nobody told me to leave. Nobody invited me in either.

I stood in that hallway alone, still wearing burgundy under my coat, carrying something no one there knew existed yet, holding onto the word possible the doctor had used like it was something I could keep.

Some memory disruption is possible.

Possible was not certain. Possible left room for a version of tomorrow where he opened his eyes and knew exactly who I was, where the last thing sitting in his memory was my name, said carefully, like he was testing the shape of it.

I told myself that, standing in that hallway, for as long as I could make myself believe it.

It would be hours before I found out how wrong I was.